


Boyscaping

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domesticity, Grooming, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since getting the piece beneath his collarbones and smaller ones above his heart, Louis’ chest hair has been a bit of an aesthetic inconvenience, as much as Harry loves giving it a good nuzzle when Louis is fresh out of the shower, droplets still clinging to his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boyscaping

**Author's Note:**

> P has a shameless grooming kink (specifically shaving) and in the words of one Harry Styles, it just kinda happened. Shout-out to the people on our Twitter tl who were talking about a Princess Bride AU, although this isn’t that.

Louis is sat on the counter naked, arse sticking to the granite countertop and skin goosebumping as Harry dabs at his chest with a lukewarm flannel, spreading the shaving cream on Louis' skin. The mix of sensations and the look on Harry’s face makes him laugh a little, but not enough to jostle him too much and screw up Harry’s work oh him. Harry sticks his tongue out a little in concentration and begins swiping gentle, steady strokes of the razor.

They’ve decided Louis’ chest looks funny when his hair grows out long over his tattoos. It’s a hardship Harry doesn’t quite have to deal with just yet, but since getting the piece beneath his collarbones and smaller ones above his heart, Louis’ chest hair has been a bit of an aesthetic inconvenience, as much as Harry loves giving it a good nuzzle when Louis is fresh out of the shower, droplets still clinging to his skin. It’s not something he absolutely _has_ to do- Harry would love him _even if you grew a third arm, Lou, promise_ \- but it’s the kind of thing that makes Louis feel a little bit self-conscious, and Harry’s always willing to help him out.

(It’s the kind of thing, too, that makes Louis think of waking up late in the morning to Harry in the bathroom with a bottle of lotion in his hand, and taking over to dab it onto a new tattoo; of doing the dishes together or one of them Hoovering while the other dusts their shelves. It feels a lot like home, especially when they’re far away.)

Lifting his own hands to palm at Harry’s bare chest, Louis grins. "Someday, young grasshopper, you too will need personal grooming."

"I like- what's that, manscaping?" Harry hums, because he can't ever resist a pun. "It makes me think of like, a tiny lawn mower but for your body."

Louis gives him a look with raised brows- they've already eaten their room service plates of spag bol, talked about getting dessert a bit later, but it's relatively early yet. They have time. “You wanna shave me down there, Hazza? Think I'd look pretty?"

Harry's hand falters a tiny bit, but he doesn't cut Louis; just gives him a look that says _Watch what you say when I'm holding a blade to your skin_. "You're _beautiful_ ," he exhales, looks down at Louis' crotch like he can't help it.

Louis’d already gotten undressed, ready to get in the shower- and his cock twitches under Harry's attention. "Eyes on the road," he reminds Harry, a little high-pitched. "Wouldn't wanna lose a nipple to your questionable skills with a blade, darling."

"You can have one of mine, I have spares," Harry quips.

"Nipple grafts!" Louis grins. "Reckon that'd make headlines." He smiles at Harry, leans back a little so Harry has to follow him, step in closer between his spread legs. "C'mon and finish the job, then, Harold, probably better to work on the other in the bath."

“Yes, Lou,” Harry rolls his eyes fondly- long gone are the days where he’d be as enthusiastic as a puppy, ready to fulfill Louis’ whims, but now there’s a tiredness to it- not like he’s over it, exactly, because Harry will do essentially anything if Lou’s asking, but like he’s _used_ to it, and... he is. He leans forward to hold the razor under the running water and shake off the excess shaving cream, pecking a kiss to Louis’ shoulder, and then goes back to Louis’ chest with renewed purpose as Louis hums contentedly, tapping his heel against the cabinet door beneath the counter.

When Harry’s done, he steps back to inspect his work- where usually he’d wipe the remaining smudges of shaving cream off with the flannel, he just grabs Louis by the hips and lifts him off the counter. “Put me down, Fezzik!” Louis squawks, slapping at Harry’s chest, and Harry growls, sets Louis on the toilet, scrunching his nose.

“Can I be Westley instead?” he asks, turning the shower on and then rinsing the razor at the sink.

Louis scoffs, thumps Harry’s ribs with a finger. “How could you ever be anyone but Princess Buttercup? You’ve got the pout and the lovely breasts.”

Harry looks down at his chest and shrugs. “Thank you,” he smiles, goofy, putting the razor and shaving cream at the edge of the tub. “So you can be Westley, then.”

Louis gets on his feet, leans up on his tiptoes to hook his chin over Harry’s shoulder as he leans forward to fiddle with the water pressure. “True love,” he whispers. 

“You’ve gone soft,” Harry points out, swaying with Louis like they’re dancing.

Louis shrugs, puts his hand in the shower and then shakes it at Harry before stepping in, spraying water droplets across his side. “Figured it’d be in the way if I didn’t,” he says, and Harry shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “I’m serious! You’re questionable at best with your hands,” Louis sniffs.

Harry’s brows furrow immediately. “You _know_ that’s absolutely not true at all,” he pouts, stepping in after Louis. “I’ve very good hands. I’m very skilled at using them for lots of purposes.”

Louis runs his hands through his hair beneath the spray, slicking it back and shaking water out of his eyes, drawing Harry closer with fingers hooking around the insides of his elbows. “I do like your hands,” he says, quietly, smiling up at Harry through the water droplets in his eyelashes.

The fact that Harry knows the move- mock coy glancing through his eyelashes, lips quirked at the corners- doesn’t mean he’s any less susceptible it. “My hands like you,” he grins, fitting them over Louis’ hips and probably looking far goofier than anyone would ever want to in front of someone they like as much as he likes Louis. They’re happily past that. “All of you,” he adds, fingers trailing down to pet through the short dark hair at the base of Louis’ cock, and they both collapse against each other in a fit of giggles, hair plastered to their faces under the spray.

Louis laughs into Harry’s collarbones until it turns to kissing, his mouth tracing out the delicate bones under the newly tan skin. It’s not a uniform golden glow quite yet, like it will be by the summer, but it’s on its way, building up with the hours Harry’s spending wearing low cut tops outside doing signings. He’s gentle, doesn’t bother leaving marks they’d only have to cover up, but still lets his tongue dance over the sensitive bits; dipping into the hollow between Harry’s collarbones at the base of his throat and sucking lightly. “It’s quite mutual,” he says, finally, working up to Harry’s chin and nibbling on his lower lip before pulling back and leaning against the tile. “But don’t you want to get started?”

“Yes sir,” Harry nods, poorly disguising a smile, and grabs the can, rubs the shaving cream on his hands before spreading it on Louis, carefully nudging his cock out of the way with the back of his hand.

“Almost feel offended for it,” Louis scoffs, and Harry rubs his knuckles against his dick. Louis’ breath catches in his throat, and- he reminds himself that they can wait, that Harry wants to do this for him first.

“Will you let me shave a cool design on you if I promise to suck you off after?” Harry grins, and having something for which to make fun of Harry distracts Louis.

“Would you not if I didn’t?” he smirks, leaning up on his tiptoes and pecking a kiss to Harry’s nose.

Harry pouts. “I probably would,” he sighs, getting on his knees and reaching for the razor. “Clean it is, then.”

Louis rolls his eyes, grabs the flannels off the rack from that morning and folds them haphazardly, drops them to the floor of the shower by Harry’s side. “Don’t ruin y’knees, love. And if- I mean, you could do something an’ shave it off, after, if you want.”

Harry grins like this is the best news he’s received in months and nods enthusiastically, sucks his lower lip into his mouth and surveys Louis’ crotch thoughtfully as he blindly arranges the flannels beneath his knees.

Louis shifts, crosses his arms. “Just- be careful, if you would.”

Really, Harry appreciates the trust that goes into letting a bloke near your bits with a sharp object, regardless of whether you’re in love with him or not. Come think of it, the love part probably has to do with it. Maybe that’s what that song was about; shaving someone’s bits.

“Stop humming Tina Turner, Harry, oh my god,” Louis laughs. “Do like, dunno, a star or something. Is that- that’s probably too complicated, isn’t it?”

“I could attempt some sort of a stripe motif,” Harry tries, the end sounding more like a question. “I’m. Do the people that like, do this use stencils or something?”

“I don’t know!” Louis’ voice cracks when it gets squeaky, and he rolls his eyes again, a bit more impatiently this time. “I’m obviously not an expert in manscaping, Hazza.”

Harry knows this- he’s seen Louis shave countless times, knows he usually favors trimming for neatness but it’s always simple, easy maintenance when they’re on the road so much. Personally, Harry likes the short curls on Louis, the natural dark of his hair, but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about this, either, the way Louis would look and feel and taste under his fingers and mouth clean-shaven.

“Clean’s good,” he concludes, shifting on his knees and pecking a kiss on each of Louis’ hipbones. “Just keep still, yeah?” he reminds Lou, holding the razor up to where the trail of hair beneath his bellybutton widens.

Louis nods, inhales and sucks in his tummy a bit, watching Harry with his lip between his teeth. It’s hotter than he expected, the intense look on Harry’s face and the fact that even though this isn’t (supposed to be?) sexual, Harry’s still _on his knees_ for Louis. 

Harry starts without touching Louis’ cock, gets the bits of skin just inside his thighs with smooth movements, taking his time to rinse off every few swipes. He works quickly, not like he’s in a rush but like he’s done this before (Louis knows he has, has put a hand in Harry’s boxers in the morning after Harry showered and quirked his eyebrows at him, finding smooth skin). Once he gets closer to Louis’ dick, though, he doesn’t hesitate to hold the head of Louis’ dick between his fingers and pull to the side to get his skin taut, shaving with the grain first and then against, running his fingertips over the skin to check his work.

“Awfully quiet up there,” Harry hums, holding the razor under the spray and going back to Louis’ cock, going around it clockwise, gentle and slow at the base. He doesn’t chance looking up- although Louis is mostly out of the shower’s reach, Harry would get water in his eyes, and that probably wouldn’t help him do a better job at this.

Louis lets his arms hang at his sides for a moment, brushes a bit of wet hair out of Harry’s face. “Feels a bit weird, s’all.” It does, and his brain is just catching up to the fact that they’ve rather impulsively decided to shave his bits. Not that Louis is having second thoughts, it’s just weird. Weird, though, is something they’ve all gotten a little too used to to be bothered by it. 

Harry’s being as careful as Louis could hope for, as careful as he knew Harry _would_ be. They’ve trusted each other with everything else; it only makes sense that Louis would let Harry have this bit of his confidence as well. 

“You like it,” he says, after another second. “On you, yeah?”

“Every once in a while,” Harry nods, leans forward to kiss Louis’ tummy. “If I have the time for it. It grows back too fast, though; I think one time I considered like, waxing it or something, but I don’t think I’d trust a stranger with hot, sticky things near it.”

“I don’t think I’d _let_ you trust a stranger with hot, sticky things near it,” Louis scoffs, patting Harry’s cheek. “ _Someone’s_ got to look after you, young Harold.”

Harry scrunches his nose, getting a little patch of skin where Louis’ leg meets the rest of him. “I like it when you look after me,” he smiles, sweet and goofy.

Louis can’t resist smiling back, thumbing at the soft skin at the hinge of Harry’s jaw, letting his hands drift to Harry’s shoulders. “Nice of you t’look after me for a change.[”](http://louisandthediamonds.tumblr.com/post/49548051062/tracedust-comment-in-a-reddit-thread-the)

“I like that, too,” Harry shrugs, completely unable to keep from smiling. He pulls Louis’ cock up gently by the head, pressing his shaft against already-shaved skin to get his balls, rinsing the razor once before putting it to Louis’ skin. “This is easier than doing it on myself, need a mirror for that.”

Louis’ stomach clenches a little, and his prick jumps against Harry’s fingers. “Sorry,” he whispers, squeezing Harry’s shoulders. 

“You’re fine,” Harry shakes his head, presses the heel of his hand down on Louis’ cock to give him _something_ , at least, while he finishes. “Gonna need you to put your foot on the ledge for a sec, Lou, d’you mind?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, hitches his leg up with his foot on the corner of the tub, shifting his hips a little, helplessly. Harry’s hand is warm and firm against his dick and it feels too good to stay absolutely still when he’s already moving. “D’you- like, need me to do anything else? Are you...” he trails off as Harry thumbs at his balls, drawing the razor down the curve where they rest below his cock, and inhales. “Never do anything halfway, do you, Haz.”

Harry shakes his head, waggles his brows ridiculously as he shakes a glob of shaving cream off his hand, holds up Louis’ cock with his palm and uses his fingers to stretch the skin of his balls. “Are you asking me to get your bum? Is that what this is about?”

Louis stares down at him, can’t find words for a moment, in the face of Harry’s slick, warm hands and the casual ease of his words, like he’s _thought_ about that, like it’s no big deal. “I- didn’t- I wasn’t-” all Louis can think is that suddenly he _can’t remember_ if Harry had done his own that way, so completely, the last time. He remembers how smooth, soft Harry’s skin had been, but he just remembers his hands on Harry’s stomach, his v-line, mouthing at the base of Harry’s cock before taking him all the way down, swallowing after. 

“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry shakes his head, and it’s strange, the reversal of roles where usually Louis would be the one flustering him. Then again, he _is_ the one taking care of Louis now. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“What do you want?” Louis asks, quietly.

Holding the razor under the spray again, Harry jerks his chin at Louis. “Other leg up, please,” he instructs, rubbing Louis’ cock with his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “When I’m done there turn around, yeah?”

Louis shivers, feels his stomach tighten again, cock twitch against Harry’s palm as he turns, silent, to raise his opposite leg. He’s facing the wall now, one hand splayed on the tiles, the other still reaching backwards for contact with Harry, fingertips against his neck. There are goosebumps spreading down his spine, in spite of the warm water hitting his side, running down his thighs, and he has to consciously keep still, keep from shifting his feet. 

Harry dabs a little extra shaving cream on the crease of Louis’ thigh and glides the razor over his skin gently, licks his lips at the sight of Louis like this, all legs and bum and back. He has to shake himself, get back on task before he nicks Louis’ skin with the razor, which would certainly ruin the mood. Once he’s done, he pats Louis’ arsecheek, “Just spread your legs a little, lean on the wall- like that, yeah,” he nods, as Louis lowers his foot and widens his stance, leans forward against the wall so the curve of his back is more pronounced. “You sure you’re okay with it, Lou?” Harry asks- his hand is still pressed to Louis’ cock, more of a favor than an actual necessity, and he’ll have to take it back soon.

“Yeah,” Louis says, clearing his throat against the fuzziness that’s making him sound choked up. He’s not, he’s just. It’s hot, is all, and Louis didn’t expect that, didn’t even think about it. He figured it would be a little awkward, silly, even, Harry manipulating his soft cock and threatening to shave a flower into his pubes, but now Louis is face-first against the shower tiles and his dick is almost completely hard and Harry is squeezing at his bum with one large hand. “Shit.”

“It won’t take long, babe, don’t worry,” Harry reassures him, sympathetic- he’s got a semi, himself, but he hasn’t let it distract him. He takes his hand away from Louis’ prick and Louis shudders, making a displeased little sound, and Harry pecks a kiss to one of Louis’ cheeks, gives it a nip with his teeth that makes Louis gasp. Harry huffs a laugh, grabs the shaving cream again and rubs it over Louis’ hole and behind his balls. He knows he should be quick so he can be done and finally get Louis off, but he can’t resist pushing at that little spot of skin with his thumb a bit harder than strictly necessary, making Louis’ knees wobble.

“Fuck off,” Louis groans, dropping his head against the tiles with a thump and swatting behind him in Harry’s general vicinity with one hand. “Want you so bad, not even funny, Harry.”

“I’ll be quick,” Harry laughs, picks up the razor again and uses his free hand to spread Louis’ cheeks as best as he can. He’s quick and quiet, listening and watching carefully for Louis’ reactions, brows furrowed. True to his word, he’s done in just under two minutes, rinsing the foam off the razor one last time and thumbing carefully at Louis’ hole to make sure he got everything.

“All done,” Harry announces, and Louis is pleasantly shaky, feels a lot like he’d be in a heap on the floor if the wall wasn’t holding him up. “If you make sure you’ve washed it all off I’ll suck you?” Harry offers, shifting on his knees, sitting back on his heels and pushing his hair out of his face.

Louis backs up slowly and turns, hands outstretched for Harry. Helping him up, he gives Harry a shaky smile, widens his stance so he can feel the stream of water down his back rinsing off wayward suds. “Thanks,” he nods. “For-” he runs his hands down his stomach, suddenly curious, makes a face at how serious Harry has gone. “A stellar job, really. Could go into the personal hygiene biz, should this pop star thing not work out for you.”

“Thanks,” Harry grins, patting Louis’ hips and catching his lips in a slow, languid kiss, licking into Louis’ mouth. He rubs Louis’ sides and then lets a hand trail down to wrap around Louis’ cock, smiling against Louis’ lips at the softness of his bare, smooth skin. He’s smiling so hard it’s impossible for Louis to keep kissing him, and where he’d make fun of Harry for it he just slumps with his arms around Harry’s shoulders, works his hips to fuck lazily into Harry’s loose fist.

Harry keeps grinning, smothers it in a kiss against Louis’ temple and works his cock. He’s not giving Louis much, just the soft press of fingers every time Louis rocks up, and he works his other hand around Louis’ back to spread his arsecheeks, make sure he’s rinsed there, too.

Louis makes a small, impatient sound and nips at Harry’s shoulder, gets a hand on Harry’s cock and palms it, none-too-gently. “C’ _mon_ , Hazza.”

“Just making sure I don’t get icky shaving cream in my mouth, hey,” Harry shushes him, balances on one foot to bend his knee a little, stretch one leg first and then the other. “And resting my knees, last thing we need is another one of us with a bum knee.”

“Niall’d be offended,” Louis drops his head on Harry’s shoulder, kisses his neck. “He didn’t like it when I hurt mine.”

“I think that’s just cause Niall doesn’t like any of us getting hurt,” Harry points out, pecking the side of Louis’ head and lowering himself on his knees again. “Good lad, that Nialler,” he grins, giving Louis’ cock a couple more tugs before sliding his mouth over half of it at once, cheeks hollowed.

“Oh god,” Louis says, loud enough that it echoes in the tiled stall, makes Harry’s dimples show around where his lips are stretched, fruit punch pink, around Louis’ cock. Louis isn’t sure if he’s overheating from the water temperature or if Harry’s mouth is actually ten times hotter than normal, tongue like a brand when he runs it around the crown, digs into the sensitive bit under the head and makes Louis jump, hands flailing to catch himself on the tile.

Pulling back, Harry licks his lips, pecks a wet kiss at the slit and hums cheerily. He sucks the head into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, pumps his fist around the base and kisses the vein on the side, and although he shouldn’t if he wants to keep his eyesight, he looks up, shielding his eyes with his free hand. He loves this view of Louis, the curves of him and the way his tattoos look like dark blurs on his skin, his throat and his jaw. “‘mon,” he mumbles, swallowing Louis down again, farther this time, and bobbing his head.

Harry’s eager, sucks Louis like it’s a treat, pulling off with wet slurps to push his foreskin up and fit his mouth over his cockhead as he slides his fist back down. He has a hand on his own cock but it’s lazy, mindless, like he doesn’t want to come just from this even though he could. Honestly, he could probably make himself come just from listening to Louis’ throaty little moans, the way he groans Harry’s name and his hands scrabble over the tile.

He pulls off once more, jerking Louis as he says, squinting up, “Keep your hips still f’me, Lou, yeah?”

“I’m still,” Louis protests weakly as Harry fits both huge hands over his hips and slides his mouth down Louis’ cock slowly, keeps going until he has to open up his throat, breathing through his nose to keep from gagging when his nose bumps Louis’ smooth, hairless skin, his lips wrapped tight around the base of Louis’ prick.

Louis makes some kind of awful noise, he’s sure, choked and overwhelmed, head jerking, chin to his chest and then neck snapping back as he stares at the ceiling, tries to contain the motion to his upper body so he won’t hurt Harry. It’s not that Harry doesn’t, ever, deepthroat; it’s just that when he has to use his voice so much on a regular basis on tour, they’re- usually far more careful. 

“Fuck,” he says, when he’s- he can’t say he’s _used_ to it, but the surprise is at least a few seconds removed. He’s not sure when he moved his hands but they’re on Harry’s face now, cradling his jaw and throat, fingertips rubbing tiny circles below his ears. “Fuck, fuck, Harry, your voice, baby.”

When Harry finally pulls back it’s with a displeased hum, and even then he bobs his head pretty far down Louis’ dick without fully taking his mouth off him, just wrapping his fingers back around the base to twist and jerk. He slurps off and sticks his tongue out, taps the head against it before sucking hard at him again, relentless.

Louis knows that Harry would keep it up, knows he’d obey what Louis didn’t even specify as a command, and finish him off with his hand and mouth without straining either. But it’s easy to justify wanting more when he’s newly reminded of how good it is, knows Harry wants it, too, and after a moment he moves one hand to the back of Harry’s head, the slightest hint of pressure.

Harry almost sighs around Louis’ cock, slides his mouth down to his fingers once before taking his hand away, settling it on the wall by Louis’ hip. He can tell Louis must be close, with the way his thighs shake slightly, the way his fingers tangle in Harry’s wet hair to push him down on his cock and then tug him away again, testing the waters.

Dragging Harry back, Louis leans over, bracing himself on the wall, hand just a few inches above Harry’s, the other still holding onto the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. His cock is bobbing against Harry’s chin and lips, and Harry keeps tilting his face slightly, trying to get the head back in his mouth. It’s so much, and Louis closes his eyes, bites his lip sharply. 

“Haz,” he says, shortly, “I want- fuck- I don’t wanna fuck up y’voice, but- close, shit.” He’s not making sense, and he knows it, but when he opens his eyes, Harry is looking up at him, pink tongue out, licking his lips like he’s trying to get more of Louis’ taste. “Up to you, babe,” Louis grits out, trying to smile, voice strung too tight and coming out high, breathless.

Harry blinks, trying to get the water out of his eyes without using his hands and shaking his head, enough that Louis’ hand pulls his hair. “Please, c’mon,” he mutters, leaning forward to lick across the slit, wincing at the firm tug back Louis gives him. It’s been way too long since they’ve had enough time off for Louis to properly fuck his mouth, and he’ll possibly have to take a bit of vocal rest tomorrow, mainline cup after cup of throat coat tea before the show and still sound croaky, but.

Louis whines, somewhere at the back of his own throat, and lets go of Harry’s wet hair, hand falling to the side of his throat. “Yeah,” he mutters, “okay.” He doesn’t need to, but he takes a tiny step forward, calf nudging Harry’s knee with the proximity, his cock sliding across Harry’s cheek. 

Smiling, Harry gives Louis’ dick a nuzzle before guiding it back into his mouth, tonguing around the head and swallowing him down once again. He’s _good_ , takes pride in his ability to take Louis without gagging, and Louis certainly seems to appreciate it. Harry rubs circles at Louis’ side with his thumb, wordless encouragement, bobbing his head.

Louis rocks his hips slightly, shifts his stance again and presses them forward with more purpose, prick sliding easily on Harry’s tongue. He keeps pushing until he can feel the back of Harry’s throat, a tell-tale flutter at the head of his dick, and goes still, waits for Harry.

Slurping gracelessly around Louis’ cock, Harry pulls off halfway and then takes all of Louis again. It feels different, his nose and lips meeting Louis’ bare skin, and he likes knowing it’s because _he_ did it, feels proud in an odd way. He keeps sucking, closes his eyes to focus on keeping his throat open for Louis, the shallow little fucks he can’t help when Harry pulls his head back.

When Louis finally comes, he has to steady himself with both hands on Harry’s shoulders, hunched over him, panting and laughing as he spurts down Harry’s throat. Harry does his best to keep moving- even though his throat hurts and his lips feel raw- or at least to hollow his cheeks as Louis rides it out, wobbly on his feet. 

(This is one of Harry’s favorite versions of Louis- groaning out his name and filling him with his come and _laughing_ about it, like this is all too good not to, like he’s so happy it just bubbles out of him in between moans.) 

By the time Harry pulls off, slurping and swallowing against the ache, Louis won’t stop petting his cheeks and hair with shaky hands, still too unsteady to properly hold himself up without Harry or the wall behind him. Harry pecks a kiss to his hip and Louis pulls Harry’s hand, “C’mere,” raking his fingers through his own hair with his other hand.

Harry unfolds clumsily, stumbling as he gets to his feet, momentum carrying him into Louis’ chest. Louis laughs again, brittle and fucked out, and leans into the wall, drawing Harry with him. The tiles are cold against their arms, but Louis is like a furnace pressed up against him, and the spray of water is warm, hitting Harry’s hip and running down the closest leg. “Hi,” Harry says, grin so wide it strains the word. 

“Hi,” Louis echoes, looking up at him and smiling, eyelids drifting shut. Harry can count the water drops on his lashes, now. “That was stellar.” 

Harry shrugs, but can’t help preening a little, says, “Glad y’thought so.” He has to clear his throat, and it’s sore already, feels raw and overworked, but Louis will make them tea when they get out and dry off. Harry isn’t worried. Louis always takes care of them.

“Mmmhm,” Louis nods, wraps a deft little hand around Harry’s cock and gives him a few tugs, tight around the head, just how Harry likes it. “Your turn, yeah?”

“Please,” Harry shudders, drops his head on Louis’ shoulder to mouth at his neck, nipping gently with his teeth. They’re standing so close that it’s hard for Louis to really move his hand in his usual smooth movements, but he makes up for it with flicks of his wrist, clever flutters over the head with his fingertips. 

Harry whimpers, croaky and so needy, so close, and Louis mutters encouragement, how lovely Harry is and how wonderful he’s been to him tonight and how he loves his smooth skin, thank you, thank you, and Harry comes just like that, sobbing a ragged breath with his nose pushed into Louis’ neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice.

Louis doesn’t let go of him for a long time, doesn’t move the arm he’d wrapped around Harry’s waist or the hand cupping his cock between their stomachs, just keeps him upright and close. “Harry,” he says, eventually, when his feet are starting to ache from the hard floor of the tub, and Harry’s gone heavy (and completely soft) in his grip. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah, love?”

Harry nods, or at least Louis thinks that’s what the movement is supposed to be, a nuzzle of his neck and Harry’s head flopping a bit against his shoulder. Louis stands him up against the tiles and reaches back to turn off the water. Harry watches him sleepily, looking particularly young and tired with his hair limp from water and the circles under his eyes visible with the make-up of the day washed off. 

Stepping out first, Harry grabs a towel and holds it out for Louis, his hair dripping all over the floor. He wraps Louis up in a tight hug and kisses his temple before getting a towel of his own, drying his shoulders and scrubbing through his hair, when suddenly he perks up a little. “Wait, Lou,” he says, gritty, drops his towel and digs through his toiletries on the counter, emerging with a bottle of aftershave he only uses- because he’s _Harry_ \- on his bits.

“Aw, way to make me feel special, Hazza,” Louis grins, eternally fond, and holds his towel open.

“It’ll keep anything from getting infected,” Harry explains, serious business face on and all, and this time he doesn’t get on his knees, much too sore. He grabs the still-damp flannel from earlier and uses it to dab carefully around Louis’ cock, handles him with a rushed _sorrysorrysorry_ to get his balls and, very quickly, the skin behind them. It’s cool on Louis’ skin, and makes his junk smell nice and expensive, and he says as much.

“Proper pop star bits,” Harry waggles his brows, eyeing Louis up and down, and flops on him in a tired hug.

“Oof,” Louis says, dryly, and catches him, like always, kisses the top of his still-drippy hair. “I’ll make you tea if you walk to bed,” he offers. “I can’t exactly carry you, y’lump.”

Harry makes an affronted noise and nips Louis’ shoulder, but he shuffles towards the door obediently, arms still around Louis’ body. 

They get to the bed in the end, and Harry still has water droplets down his spine, in the little dimples above his bum that Louis always wants to kiss. He doesn’t, tonight, promises himself he will in the morning instead, and rolls Harry over onto the mattress. “Tea,” he reminds him, when Harry makes grabby hands to pull him into bed, too. “Your throat, Haz.”

Somehow managing to both pout and smile at Louis, Harry burrows under the covers. “Always take care of me, Lou,” he mumbles half into one of the pillows, and he knows Louis doesn’t like it when he doesn’t let his hair dry a little first, soaks through the pillowcase, but he doesn’t fuss about it this time. Harry’s left to stare, curled up on his side facing Louis a few feet away, setting up two mugs before going to fill the electric kettle in the bathroom, miles of golden skin and perfect curves.

“Someone has to when you’re away from home so much, you momma’s boy,” Louis chirps, leaning on the table where the kettle’s warming up, looking like some sort of Greek god, a Mediterranean statue, out of place in a cookie-cutter hotel room. “‘d I tell you your mum called me? Like, a couple of days ago, just to have a chat. We should go up to visit her before America.”

Harry presses his pillow down so he can see Louis better, smiles softly. “Like that,” he whispers, because his throat really does hurt a bit now. He’s sure Louis hears it though, because he nods confirmation and goes about emptying a packet of throat coat into one mug and a tea bag into the other. 

Louis would rather have his tea flat than with one of the god-awful thimble-sized containers of non-dairy creamer in the tray next to the instant coffee. He doesn’t need to fill the time until the water boils with mindless chatter- if Harry’s content with shamelessly fond staring, so is he. Once their drinks are ready, he pads over to the bed and hands Harry both mugs, crawls into his side of the bed and snuggles up to Harry’s side before taking his tea back.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles, blowing the steam off his tea and taking a sip, draping an arm over Louis’ shoulders and smiling tiredly.

Louis kisses Harry’s cheek with tea-warm and damp lips. “You’re very welcome, Harold. Now drink your tea and don’t talk.”

Harry’s all too happy to obey, sipping from his mug and basking in the warmth of Louis and privacy and quiet. It’s nice, for a change, to have a moment of peace, to actually be able to listen to things like Louis’ breathing and his own creaky ankles, joints popping as he shifts his legs slightly between the sheets. 

It’s now that they get to make up for the lack of easy contact during the day- they’ve always been tactile people, dependent on constant affection (and Harry admits that it’s true of him more so than Louis, most times), but they’ve learnt to keep to themselves or get a snuggle from the other boys to make things easier. It’s better than it could be, anyway, and even though most nights they’re too tired to do much more than order room service and watch foreign telly, it’s _their_ time.

When Harry slurps up the last of his tea, Louis takes his cup and leans over Harry to set it on the side table, finishes his own quickly and puts it down beside Harry’s. He turns off the lamp and settles his arm over Harry’s waist, squeezing his hip. “Shall we?”

Harry knows he means bed, and sleep, and finds himself nodding easily, scooting down the mattress and dragging Louis with him. They end up curled slightly into each other, Louis half on top of Harry, kissing his chest.

“Almost forgot I did this bit,” Harry grins, petting at Louis’ chest, tracing the dark lines of his tattoos. He curls his body around Louis’, almost like spooning but facing each other, and takes deep breaths, tips his forehead down on top of Louis’ head.

Louis squirms his free arm down between them to palm at his lower stomach, curiously, and tilts his head up to grin at Harry. “I like it,” he decides. “Both. Y’did fantastic with both, anyway.”

Harry doesn’t have to _say_ thank you- it’s just as easy to tangle his fingers with Louis’ and rest his hand low on his tummy, simple and comfortable and familiar.


End file.
